Unbreakable
by Molly4
Summary: Angst, depression, Clark Kent. :) R&R!! Spoilers from The Pilot and possibly episode 2. Please tell me if it's any good.


Disclaimers: I don't own "Smallville" or any of it's characters.....though Clark Kent can drop by my house any time he darn well pleases! Read and review everybody! Make my day complete!   
  
Rated: PG-13, for angst, depression, and whatever else makes a teen so moody. Slightly disturbing.   
  
  
  
Unbreakable:   
By: Molly   
~~~~~~~~~~~~   
  
Jonathan Kent grunted as he heaved the last bale of hay onto the already towering pile in one corner of the barn. He wiped the sweat off his brow, and squinted in the hot Kansas sun. He felt damp, sticky, and in need of a fresh shirt, but he smiled. He was finally done.   
  
Wiping his hands on his faded jeans, Jonathan strolled toward the house, whistling softly. Visions of a huge pitcher of lemonade danced in his head. He licked his slightly chapped lips, and pushed open the screen door, eager to quench his undying thirst.   
  
He washed his hands quickly in the kitchen sink, his cotton dry mouth screaming at him to hurry up. After hours of work, Jonathan Kent was officially beat. How he longed to be able to hire a few helping hands. Not to do anything huge, like use the wood chipper- after one incident involving his son, Clark, Jonathan couldn't even look at the wood chipper, much less use it. No, not heavy work. Little chores, like hauling hay, no big machinery involved. But, workers needed money, and though the Kents weren't exactly living on the streets, they weren't swimming in pools full of gold either. After all, it wasn't like they were the Luthors.   
  
Jonathan frowned. Those little chores had been things he'd asked Clark to do hours ago. Normally, Clark was a rather obedient boy, and hardly ever complained while doing his share of the work. Clark had promised to help his dad out. Where was he?   
  
Drying his hands on a ratty dishtowel, Jonathan thought about the past couple days. How he wished he could do something to help his son get through everything, learning that he was from another planet, and discovering all his powers. Sure, he could listen, try and give advice, give him sympathy, but that was pretty much his limit. Jonathan didn't know what it was like to have super powers. Sure, he'd gone through puberty too. That involved sprouting facial hair, his voice cracking every ten seconds, and numerous embarrassing moments, courtesy of his hormones, not floating in his sleep, or ripping a car door off the hinges. It was almost as if Clark was alone in all this, no matter how much Jonathan tried to comfort him. He was having a horrendous time trying to come to the grips with the fact that he would never be simply average.   
  
Jonathan flung open the fridge door, a broad smile creeping over his face as he grabbed a pitcher of pink lemonade. He gulped down all the lemonade straight from the pitcher, a few drops of liquid landing on the kitchen floor. When he had finally finished the pitcher, he tossed it into the sink to be washed later, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.   
  
He jogged up to the master bedroom he and Martha slept in. Martha was visiting her mother in Topeka for the week, leaving the Kent men to fend for themselves. And doing pretty darn well, Jonathan noted proudly. Sure, they'd had take-out every night so far, but they'd had french fries, and fries had potatoes in them, and potatoes were considered a vegetable, right? Even if there were pounds of grease, salt, and ketchup spread on them, right?   
  
The room had been decorated by Mrs. Kent, and it was obvious just by looking at it. She could be held accountable for the flowery look to the room, and the elaborate monogram pillows with wise sayings stitched carefully across them. It was a little much for Jonathan, but he put up with it. He was a simple man who could just as easily use a pillow that didn't have 'Home is where the heart is,' on it, but Martha had insisted. She liked nice things, and she had argued that if he could keep his high school football jersey hanging up above the fireplace, she could buy all the monogram pillows her heart desired.   
  
He stripped off his white t-shirt and sighed, just about ready to collapse in a heap. He tossed the shirt on the floor, smiling. He'd never have been able to do that with Martha around. It felt good to just be able to kick back, and not worry about Martha scolding him for not putting the dirty shirt in the hamper. God knew Clark didn't mind.   
  
Pulling a blue shirt over his head, Jonathan frowned. Where was Clark? That question once again popped into his mind. He walked quietly into Clark's bedroom, surveying the area. He knew Clark would yell at him if he was inside. He craved privacy more than anyone Jonathan ever knew and if you so much as put your big toe into his room without permission, he went off like the fire works at the big Smallville 4th of July Picnic. But Clark was not there, which trouble Jonathan even more.   
  
Jonathan recalled a time when it had been necessary for Clark's room to be right next to his own. Clark was prone to nightmares as a young child, and Jonathan and Martha were always there to hear his cries and comfort him. He remembered when Clark used to come crawling into his arms, tears streaming down his little face. How Jonathan would carefully wipe the tears from his son's eyes, and sing him to sleep. Then it had been so easy to solve all of Clark's problems. Then Clark had been willing to spill the beans. Now he was cold....distant.   
  
Jonathan felt his stomach flip as he saw no sign of Clark. The only current occupant of his room was a gigantic poster of a scantily clad blonde placed strategically right across from Clark's bed. Jonathan didn't even have to ask why, and he didn't want to anyway. That was strictly Clark's business, and he wasn't about to embarrass the boy by asking. That poster was probably the reason Martha had stopped cleaning his room every week.   
  
Jonathan felt a little queasy. Didn't Clark know he was supposed to tell him where he was going before he went anywhere? Jonathan staggered, feeling a jolt of nausea hit him. Something was wrong, he could feel it.   
  
Frantically he ran down the stairs. Searched the living room, the den, no sign of Clark. He stopped suddenly outside the bathroom door. He heard what sounded like gut wrenching sobs come from inside the bathroom when he pressed his ear up against the door.   
  
Jonathan, without a second's hesitation opened the door. His heart stopped.   
  
There sat Clark on the edge of the bath tub, sobbing hysterically, and clutching a razor blade in one hand. He could barely breathe as he saw Clark cut his wrist. But....no blood.   
  
"Oh, God," Jonathan muttered, clutching the door knob to keep his knees from buckling.   
  
Clark finally looked up at his dad. A bitter smile haunted his handsome features. He licked his lips, and gave his father a pained look.   
  
"Don't worry Dad.....Don't worry Daddy," Clark sobbed. "I can cut myself, and cut myself, and cut myself again, and I'll never die. I'm unbreakable. You can shove me out of an airplane, shoot me in the head, I'll never die. Not a scratch on little Clarkie." Clark buried his head in his hands, the razor blade slipping from his grasp and clattering to the floor harmlessly.   
  
"Oh, God. Clark..." It finally hit Jonathan what Clark had intended to do. In a flash, Jonathan had Clark in his arms, wrapped in a tight hug. At first Clark's body stiffened, but he soon relented, and buried his face in his father's shirt, bawling. Jonathan held him close, fighting back the urge to cry. What had happened to his son?   
  
It was an awkward scene. Clark was a good few inches taller than his dad, and had to bend down considerably, just to welcome his father's embrace. Still, however, Clark felt the tiniest twinge of relief. He felt still young enough to have his dad kiss away all his problems. Yet still, he continued sobbing.   
  
"Shhhhh," Jonathan tried to calmly comfort his only son. He kissed the top of his head lightly, and decided he could be there as long as Clark needed him.   
  
"I want....I want....to die," Clark choked out.   
  
"No, you don't. No you don't," Jonathan repeated. He rocked him softly, feeling a few tears start to well up in his eyes. "Why?"   
  
"Why not?"   
  
Jonathan could swear his heart stopped. The question threw him off guard. How could Clark think he had no reason to live? Maybe Clark Kent wasn't the Big Man on Campus, but he did have friends, no matter how annoying Jonathan found them at times. And he had himself and Martha, who loved him more than life itself. Didn't that mean anything? Heck, if it meant anything to Clark, the blonde on his wall wasn't about to get up and walk out on him.   
  
"How-How could you not know?" Jonathan stammered, stroking Clark's messy hair lovingly. "How could you not....not know how much you mean to me....and your mother....."   
  
"I don't want to be some kind of super hero," Clark broke in. "I hate this! I hate all of this!" He choked back a sob as he struggled to continue speaking. "I wanna....I wanna stick my hand in a wood chipper and come out missing a few fingers. I wanna....I wanna get hit by a car and not end up denting the hell outta it! I don't want to be unbreakable. I want to be normal."   
  
Jonathan bit his lip. He rubbed Clark's back softly, loosening his hug slightly.   
  
"You'll never be normal, Clark," he started softly. "You can't fight who you are. This is all...." Jonathan struggled with the right words to say. "This is all a shock to you, I know that. It was a shock to me too. Twelve years ago...I never dreamed....never dreamed I'd be able to have a child. Then you just came into our....came into life when we least expected it. You became my son, and I loved you like you were my own."   
  
"I'm a freak, Dad," Clark screamed. "You don't deserve a kid like me for a son. You deserve someone perfect.....a jock....Whitney. He could make you proud." Clark avoided his father's eyes.   
  
"I don't want Whitney. That kid's a sack of crap. I want you as my son. I love you, Clark. And you always make me proud, son, always. A lot of guys wouldn't have done what you did for Whitney after what he did to you."   
  
"How....how did you know?" Clark stuttered.   
  
"I'm not blind Clark. After the farmer's market last week...I...I heard a few of those football players laughing about it." Jonathan paused sighing. "And if I could I'd take that jackass QB, and nail him into the ground."   
  
Neither of them spoke for what seemed like hours. Clark was slightly embarrassed about the fact that his father knew about his most humiliating moment. It was bad enough Lana knew. He wanted to make his dad proud to be able to call him his son. He didn't want to fail him.   
  
"You....you never asked...."   
  
"I didn't want to embarrass you, Clark," Jonathan told him quietly. "I knew something must have been wrong...with your..." he paused wondering whether he should say it or not, but continued on anyway, "your powers. But I couldn't ask."   
  
"Does Mom know?" Clark asked, looking directly into his father's eyes.   
  
"No. And she won't. Not unless you want her to."   
  
"I don't."   
  
"Then she'll never know."   
  
"Good."   
  
"Okay."   
  
"Are you-are you gonna tell her about this?"   
  
Jonathan considered it. If Martha found out somehow, she'd never speak to Jonathan again for not telling her.   
  
"Not unless you want me to," he replied shakily. Some things were more important than getting the silent treatment.   
  
"I don't."   
  
"Okay."   
  
"Yeah....."   
  
"You know, we're not done talking about this, right?" Jonathan wiped a tear from Clark's eye with his thumb.   
  
"Why not?" Clark asked, hanging his head. He'd like to forget all this ever happened.   
  
"These feelings won't just go away," Jonathan replied, kissing him on the forehead. "I'd like it if you'd.....well it's your choice but....."   
  
"What?"   
  
"I have this old friend, from school, Jack Hughes. He, he's a teen therapist. I'd like it if you'd speak with him." Jonathan swallowed a lump in his throat. God, his son was suicidal. Clark needed help. Maybe he'd never die from his attempts, but he wouldn't be whole either.   
  
"I don't need a shrink!" Clark yelled, standing up quickly, and zipping away in a blur.   
  
"Clark? Clark?" Jonathan tried ran out of the bathroom. "Damn," he muttered. Clark had finally let him in for a little while and he had to go ruin things. Now Clark would never talk.   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
  
Clark peered through his telescope, his mind on a woman he knew he could never touch. He spotted Lana, sitting on her front porch, reading a thick novel. God, she was beautiful. She took his mind off all his trouble. She had an innocence about her. Like an angel. She didn't walk, she floated. Everything about her was perfect. Pure. Wonderful.   
  
Clark sighed. He had wanted to kill himself, though he knew he never could. He'd never have Lana. He'd never be average. Never normal. Just a stupid freak of nature. He looked down the stairs cautiously. He hoped his dad would get the message. He wanted to be alone.   
  
Clark didn't want a shrink. Normal kids didn't need shrinks. Normal kids could get along just fine with a six pack of beer, a few cows to tip, and a few pools to hop. Normal kids. He quietly resumed watching Lana. He knew what he was doing was...well....illegal. But he didn't care. Perhaps the one thing that made him normal was his pure, true, love for Lana Lang.   
  
Who knew? Maybe he could forget his powers, never use them. Maybe he could become a regular teen. Go to any parties that would let him through the door. Maybe. And maybe he could just get through his depression without having another talk like that with his father. Once was enough.   
  
He sighed, watching Lana turn another page.   
  
Who knew?   
  
Maybe he'd join the football team.   
  
THE END   
  
A|N: tell me if it was good. :)


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